


Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

by virgo_writer



Series: Sixteen-by-Eight Feet [15]
Category: Make It or Break It
Genre: Awkward Conversations, F/M, Future Fic, Humor, Keelers Being Awesome, Meeting the Parents, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Team Sasha, Thanksgiving Dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2020-09-01 23:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20266480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgo_writer/pseuds/virgo_writer
Summary: Sasha had never actually celebrated Thanksgiving and his first experience was beyond memorable.  What with crotchety old men, mischievous little sisters, and well meaning parents . . . all of whom believe he’s in an inappropriate relationship with his most prized gymnast. 16x8 Universe. Payson/Sasha





	1. A Common Misconception

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to ff.net

_October 2013_

"I'm bringing Sasha home with me to Thanksgiving," Payson said, letting her mother know there would be an extra guest at the usual Keeler family celebration. Not that Sasha actually celebrated Thanksgiving – he was so _British_ sometimes – but it was the thought that counts.

"So you'll be coming together?" her mother asked in a suddenly strained tone that Payson couldn't understand. She had thought her mother would be pleased to have Sasha there after not seeing him in so long. Sasha had even said himself that outside of his gymnasts – ‘you rebels’ he always deemed them affectionately – Kim Keeler was probably the one person he missed from his days at The Rock.

"Yes together," Payson answered rather casually paying no real heed to the way that Kim had asked the question. "I don't finish class until late on Wednesday and Sasha will be getting in one last practice before he leaves, so we won't be catching a flight until Thursday morning, but we've both got Friday off so we can stay for the weekend.

"Sasha was going to book somewhere but I told him he'd be fine to stay at our place," she finished straightforwardly, unwittingly forcing their travel arrangements upon her mother.

Her mother gave an awkward hum and pursed her lips (although Payson couldn't tell this via the telephone). "Payson, we don't have a guest room," Kim reminded her. "Where's he going to sleep?"

"I figured he'd just stay in my room," Payson shrugged. Sasha was their guest, after all, and so it was only right that he take her bed and that she slept on the couch or bunked in with Becca. It had been so long since she and Becca had shared a room and it would be a nice opportunity to catch up on everything that had been going on while she was at college.

"Payson, is it . . . are you and Sasha . . ." Kim began, attempting several sentences but seeming reluctant to finish any of them.

Payson frowned at her mother's strange behaviour. The way she was going on, you'd think she didn't want Sasha to come. "You're alright with this, right?" she checked, realizing it might have been wrong for her to simply assume that her mother would be happy to see their extra guest. "You're not - "

"Of course I am, sweetheart," Kim assured quickly, her voice still strained. "I just . . . I was thinking about having your grandfather and his,” she swallowed her disdain, “girlfriend over for Thanksgiving. I just . . . want you and Sasha to be prepared for that in case those are the plans.

"Are you and Sasha okay with that?" she asked seriously.

Payson shrugged. "That sounds fine,” she brushed off easily. “We can use Sasha as a distraction when Pop gets all disapproving or Maxine does something inappropriate."

"So you're really . . . this is it then?" Kim asked haltingly.

"Mom, are you sure you're okay? It's not too late to back out, you know? Sasha will understand."

Payson heard a quick gasp from her mother before another assurance that she was "perfectly fine."

"I just want you to be happy, sweetheart," Kim said.

"I am happy, Mom," Payson assured her, although she wasn't sure why the assurance was necessary. "I'll see you in a few weeks and I'll let you know our flight information once Sasha sorts it. Bye now, Mom."

"Bye, Payson."

* * *

Kim Keeler frowned as she hung up the phone, still recovering from a trying but not unexpected phone call from her daughter. She'd seen this moment coming for a while now – ever since Sasha moved to Seattle at the start of the semester – but she hadn't expected Payson to be quite so forthright about it, simply implying the fact that they were now an item and expecting people to accept it.

Not that Kim hadn't come to accept it . . . mostly. She knew nothing had happened until after they stopped being coach and athlete, but there was still something a little _improper_ about the relationship that was sometimes a little hard to get past. Especially when Payson's easy assumption that they'd be sharing a room here in Boulder (something Kim wasn't entirely sure she'd be okay with even if her daughter's boyfriend wasn't her former coach and more than a decade older than her) implied that they were sleeping together, and maybe even living together given how hard she often found it to reach Payson at her dorm. These were difficult things to come to terms with, even if she did – for the most part – support Payson's relationship with Sasha.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mark asked, looking concerned as the colour washed from her cheeks.

Kim took a breath, easing the jittery feeling in her limbs that had pervaded. "Payson just told me," she said, giving him a serious look that conveyed exactly what had been said.

"Wow," Mark awed after a moment of looking as stunned as she had earlier. "So it's official?"

"As official as it gets," she replied, nodding her head. "He's coming here for Thanksgiving. And they're sharing a room," she added reluctantly.

Mark scoffed in disdain. "Not in my house," he intoned seriously, his protective father instincts flaring up.

“I don’t like this,” he admitted with a rueful look. “And it’s not because of the age gap or the fact that Sasha used to be her coach.

“I don’t like that Payson kept this from us. That they’ve been carrying on behind our backs for who knows how long,” he said ruefully. “That’s not the way I raised my daughter.”

Kim’s expression dulled to match his as she tried to find a way to appease him. If it were just the age and their former coach-athlete relationship that were a problem, she would have easily found a way to brush that aside. She would simply remind Mark of what a good man Sasha was and that the only thing that mattered was Payson’s happiness. Mark had instead raised the very real concerns she shared over the degree of secrecy that seemed to surround the relationship.

Payson had never outright told them about her relationship with Sasha, although she wasn’t exactly hiding it of late. They’d worked it out, of course, once Sasha took a job at University of Washington and Payson started making regular references to the time she was spending with Sasha and not just vague allusions to people and places. It just would have been nice for Payson to sit them down and tell them upfront that she was seeing someone instead of going about it in this half-covert manner.

“Maybe they had their reasons,” she offered weakly, not convinced that those reasons were any good. “You know what Payson’s like,” she added a bit more strongly. “She’ll keep things to herself until she’s sure about the outcome.

“Maybe they wanted to see if it could work before they got everybody all up in arms about a relationship that might not last,” she said, coming up with the only thing she had to explain Payson’s behaviour. 

“We can talk to her about it when she gets here,” she concluded.

“To both of them,” Mark corrected, not letting Sasha out of this. Despite some acceptance of the relationship, he wasn’t going to let Sasha escape without some strong words on what would happen if the man ever harmed his daughter.

“At least some good came out of it,” Kim pressed, always able to find the silver lining no matter how dark the rain cloud. “At least we won’t have to invite my dad and Maxine to dinner this year.”

Mark managed a small smile at that one saving grace. “Well that’s something.”

~ to be continued ~


	2. A Common Misconception

_~ Day Before Thanksgiving_

As he opened the door to his apartment, Sasha immediately caught the most wonderful scent emanating from inside. It was the most delectable mixture of flavours: the acidity of the tomatoes and peppers, the heady smell of ground beef, and the earthy mixture of herbs and spices.

He tried to remember the last time he’d caught that particular fragrant mix. The memory was fresher than he’d originally anticipated. He’d gone nearly ten years without it in the past, but this time it was only three.

_‘Payson,’_ he thought with a gentle smile, doing a quick search for her physical presence. She wasn’t hard to find, standing in front of the stove he never used, taste testing the dish in front of her until it was seasoned to her satisfaction.

“What exactly did I do to earn _ardei umpluţi_?” he asked as he entered the kitchen, stepping up behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders. Moving in even closer, he leaned over her, catching her wrist so he could steal the spoon of sauce she was trying to taste. “Perfect,” he assured with a smack of his lips. Though he would probably never say so, the sauce recipe she used was even better than his mother’s.

She turned to face him and Sasha prepared himself for her scolding. Instead she frowned and tried to repeat what he said. “Ar-dej oom-pluts,” she said very slowly, saying it once more with a bit more confidence. “Is that right?”

“Close,” he said, smiling encouragingly at her attempt. It had been so long since he had actually heard anyone utter those words that he felt compelled to teach her the whole damned language – from _a scădea _to _zvonuri_. Which caused him to do something he’d never done before in his life. _“Ardei_,” he said again, this time slowly and with extra emphasis on the parts that differed from her own rendition, _“umpluţi.”_

She repeated him once more and then rewarded him with one of her brightest smiles when he nodded his approval. Payson was so wonderfully down-to-earth and took pleasure out of the simplest joys. Like learning a new word or finding out something new about someone she cared about.

“Set the table,” she commanded. “I’ll serve the _ardei umpluţi,_” she beamed at him.

He laughed and shook his head as she began meticulously plating the dish. “This isn’t Kitchen Wars, Pay,” he teased her. “It doesn’t need to be perfect.”

She spared a moment to poke her tongue at him, but kept to the task at hand, setting up each dish with just the right amount of sauce and the best looking peppers, and then the side dishes of roasted vegetables and pickled cabbage. Like most men, he tended to think of his mother as the best cook in the world, but Payson was a very close second.

“Did you want a glass of wine?” he asked, having laid out the table with everything else they needed.

“There’s a Pinot Noir open on the bench,” she answered without turning from her task. She had a napkin in hand, dabbing up the stray drops of sauce marring her presentation.

He set the wine glasses on the table and then grabbed the wine itself. “Martinborough?” he noted with approval. “I really am being spoiled.

“What did you do?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Payson assured him, throwing back her head in a laugh. She grabbed her dishes and began transferring them to the table. “I just felt like a nice dinner,” she added innocently.

“Sure,” he agreed doubtfully. “You forget how well I know you, Payson. You’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s nothing,” Payson tried again. “I just . . . I have tiny little favour,” she told him, her fingers pinched together to indicate the almost negligible size of the favour.

“It’s nothing huge,” she continued, hands flitting around her as she spoke and her eyes guiltily avoiding his. “I mean, you might think it’s a big thing. I don’t think it is, but maybe . . . I don’t know it depends on you and – “

“Payson,” he said, cutting her off midsentence as he took hold of her shoulders. “You know you can ask me anything.”

She smiled weakly and let out a huge sigh of relief. “Just . . . when my Mom asks – and I know she will – can you tell her I’m doing alright.” She gave him a pitiful look, set to convince him if all else failed.

He nodded, about to tell her that wouldn’t be a problem because she was doing perfectly fine as far as he knew, until she continued. “So can you not mention that thing with my English lecturer.”

He barked out a laugh, feeling slightly bad when he saw her worried expression. “I promise not to mention it if you stop referring to it as ‘that thing’ and just admit that you got a B,” he said in a mock serious tone. “You mum’s not going to think she needs to drag you back to Boulder just because you got a B on an assignment, Pay,” he added more kindly, shifting his hands so they wrapped around her in a quick hug and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“It was a stupid assignment,” she said childishly, still looking a little upset over the blemish in her perfect record. She had straight As in her Science and Maths papers, but had been stumped by a writing exercise in her English compulsory because her lecturer regarded her writing as too technical. 

“Yeah it was,” he agreed for the sake of appeasing her. He ushered her gently towards the table and pulled out her chair like the gentleman he was.

“Your mum’s worry aside,” he said conversationally, “you looking forward to going home for a bit?”

She nodded, smiling for the change in subject and talked excitedly about getting to see everyone. Apparently the old gang would be back in Boulder for the holiday, so she’d get to catch up with the rest of the rebels and not just her parents and Becca who she’d seen more recently. The stupid assignment was all but forgotten as they enjoyed a pleasant meal together and easy conversation. 

Eventually the food was eaten and the wine half drunk, and he sent her to bed, despite protests that she needed to clean and further protests that she shouldn’t be taking his bed.

“Next time,” he said simply. “You look knackered, Payson, and I’ve still got a few more things I want to do before I go to bed.”

“But – “

“I’ve already set the alarm for six, so just go to bed,” he insisted, cutting off her protests. “Consider it compensation for all the times you’ve saved me from resorting to pot noodles.”

She groaned and shook her head. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to be stubborn right now,” she told him, sending him one last scowl over her shoulder before grabbing a pair of pyjamas from her luggage and doing as she was told.

He smiled as he watched her go, puttying around for a little while longer before settling himself on the couch for the night. They were going to need a goodnight’s sleep if they were going to survive the holiday

* * *

_~ Thanksgiving, Midday_

“So who’s this boy Payson’s bringing?”

Kim turned to her father, Robert Wilson, with a tight smile. His expression was stern and suspicious, rather than concerned or interested, as though he’d already made the decision outright to dislike the male that his granddaughter was bringing to dinner irrespective of any redeeming qualities the young man might have. He was always hardest on Payson like that, perhaps because she was so capable or because she reminded him of himself in some small way.

Robert had, unfortunately, not taken the hints Kim had tried to drop weeks earlier about Payson bringing a ‘friend’ and not wanting to scare him off with a huge affair. In fact, Robert had chosen to be especially contrary and insisted on being there. And on bringing his ‘partner’, Maxine Harper, who was only ever so slightly older than Kim and her sisters (and the reason why Kim’s two older sisters refused to entertain their father for the holidays). It was clearly going to be _one of those _Thanksgivings again.

“Dad, could we please not get into this,” she all but begged him. “I just want to have a nice, peaceful meal with Payson and Sasha.”

Robert scoffed harshly and would not be deterred. “What kind of name is ‘Sasha’ for a young lad?” he criticised. “Sounds like a girls name.”

“It’s a nickname, grandpa,” Becca offered helpfully, looking up slightly as she folded cloth napkins into a fluer-de-lis and slotted them in the holders. “It’s short for Alexander.”

“I was almost engaged to an Alexander,” Robert’s girlfriend interjected in a lofty tone, swirling her wine in an affected fashion. She leaned back in her seat and fingered the chain around her neck, looking more like some character from a daytime soap than an actual person. “He had such an artistic soul. It was such a shame to see him go. 

“He died of alcohol poisoning,” she said so casually that Kim had to run the sentence again in her head to make sure she was hearing right. “The Kremlin called him home and he drank himself to death instead.”

Robert frowned as the wheels turned in his head. “So he’s Russian?” he guessed, turning his attention back to his daughter. “You’re letting her bring home some commie bastard?”

“Dad,” Kim bit out, implicitly warning him to watch his language in front of Becca. “He’s English.”

“So he’s a Socialist then,” Robert amended, which for him was the same as being Communist. “He’s one of those yellow-bellied sympathisers.”

“Dad, it’s just a name,” Kim managed tersely. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Robert muttered something lowly to himself – probably some irksome complaint about his daughter’s insolence and how this never would have happened if she’d married that nice boy from down the road instead of some _college educated_ city boy from Minneapolis. Then he steeled his features and asked the most inappropriate question that Kim could have imagined.

“He’s not _Jewish_, is he?”

* * *

Payson huffed with annoyance, glancing meaningfully at her watch even though she knew it wouldn’t do anything. The airport security officer was hardly paying attention to her. Not when Sasha provided such an interesting alternative.

She might have forgiven the interest if it had been warranted. A gymnastics fan. A woman with a thing for his rugged athletic charm. An abnormally helpful staff member helping out a perceived foreigner. This was just stupid and exactly why people always got so annoyed with the TSA.

It had all started ordinarily enough. They went through the security check with no hassle – no extra beeps in the metal detector or flags for contraband in their luggage – but then they’d asked for identification. And Sasha, like an idiot, had handed over his passport when a drivers licence would do just fine. His Romanian passport.

Thus the problem.

It probably would have been fine if Sasha hadn’t been quite so well travelled. Over the past five years he’d gone through customs in four different states, visited Canada twice, been in and out of Europe near constantly, and made trips to Asia and the Pacific. He had more stamps in his passport for just one year than most people did for their whole lives. Payson’s was the same, only she had an American passport so her extensive travelling didn’t matter – she didn’t fit some standard profile that flagged her as a potential threat to National security. Sasha’s passport came from an ex-Soviet country of which most Americans knew very little, except that they have vampires and apparently drug Overlords.

“And what did you say your purpose was for entering the US, Mr _Belov_?” the Senior security officer asked haughtily, emphasizing Sasha’s surname as though it constituted absolute proof of his guilt. 

Sasha smiled tightly and sent her an apologetic look. “As I told your colleagues, I work in Washington and I –“

“For the Whitehouse?” the agent cut in, his suspicion taking on a whole new level of conspiracy.

“The state,” he responded dryly, just barely maintaining civility. “I work in Seattle. I coach at the University.”

“And you vouch for him?” the security agent asked, turning to Payson now and giving her the same suspicious once over.

“If need be,” Payson retorted tiredly. She fashioned her expression into the media-dahling smile she’d perfected in her sponsorship days and tried for another tactic. “Sir, I know you’re only doing your job, but we’re already running ridiculously late. We were supposed to get to my parents house for Thanksgiving an hour ago,” she said, hoping to garner some sympathy and end this ridiculous interrogation.

The security agent balked a little, eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline and suddenly he looked embarrassed rather than suspicious. “Your parents?” he repeated. Then he turned to Sasha. “You’re here for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes,” Sasha answered. “Which I was about to tell . . . “

Payson nudged him to cut him off, gently indicating that it was better to leave that for now. There were some battles that just weren’t worth the effort.

The security officer handed back the passport, with some reluctance, and sent them off with a near genuine, “Have a nice Thanksgiving.” Again, Payson gently placated Sasha to stop him from calling back some passive-aggressive remark that he might later regret.

Sasha sighed loudly and shook his head, his patience threadbare. “I don’t know what it is about Thanksgiving that turns you people into complete nutters,” he said as they headed out the airport, having opted for one of the shuttle services rather than deal with the holiday traffic personally. “It’s not even a real holiday.”

“You people?” she asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smirked back at her and narrowed his eyes. “Americans,” he challenged in a dark tone. He held her gaze, waiting for her to crack. Which she did, laughing at his stupid joke despite her own assessment of its merit.

“You’re so . . . English,” she complained in an affected tone, leaning into his side.

“British,” he corrected semantically.

“My apologies,” she said falsely, solemnly covering her heart with her hand. He looked unreasonably smug, treating it as the genuine apology that it quite clearly wasn’t.

“C’mon,” she said with a sigh of exaggerated annoyance as she caught his hand and tugged him in the direction she wanted him to go. “If we don’t hurry we really will be late.

“And you wouldn’t want that,” she added ominously.

~ to be continued ~


	3. Prompt Arrival

_~ Thanksgiving, Early Afternoon_

"Sasha, give it to me," Payson demanded, tugging on the handle of her luggage, hoping to subdue him by sheer strength of will seeing as it wouldn't even be close in a physical contest.

"It's fine," Sasha insisted. "You've got your handbag. I can get the rest." His tone was more than a little patronizing, which only served to infuriate her and make her more determined to relieve him of her luggage.

"I can carry it myself," she told him, giving another tug on the bag. "Sasha -"

"Payson," he returned, in his perfectly cool coaching tone. "I've got this."

She refused to cave. More so because he still thought he could just lower his voice like that and give her a measured stare, and she would simply do whatever it was he asked of her. She was no longer affected by that particular timbre of his voice, at least not in the way that she had been in her teens. As a young woman in her twenties it affected her in a very different way, sending a pleasant little shiver down her spine and causing an erratic rhythm to her heartbeat.

She shook off that feeling, and instead lunged across Sasha for his luggage. He held his own bags in a looser grip, not expecting that particular turn of events, and she swiped it easily from his grasp only to have Sasha's fast reflexes catch her by the waist and keep her from getting away with it.

"What do you think you're doing, Payson?" he asked with another measured stare, a hint of amusement quirking at his lips.

She stared back at him defiantly, her chin raised and her lips set in a firm line. It was not an expression of childish insolence, but of poise and tenacity. "Fair is fair," she said simply. "There's nothing wrong with a woman carrying your bag, is there, Sasha?" she asked him innocently.

A trap if ever he heard one. But one he was saved from having to fall in to by a convenient interjection.

"If you guys are nearly done out here, everyone's wondering what's taking so long?"

They turned together to see Becca leaning casually against the doorframe giving them dubious looks. "Grandpa Rob and Maxine are here already, so you guys might want to cool it a bit," she suggested with a grin.

Seeing her sister, Payson smiled brightly and forgot everything else. She dropped the bag she had just managed to commandeer at Sasha's feet and rushed to Becca, wrapping the sixteen-year-old in an enthusiastic hug.

"Can't . . . breath . . ." the younger girl complained in a strangled voice, jokingly fighting off her sister's exuberance. Payson squeezed her even tighter in retaliation before letting her go, just so happy to be with her family again.

Becca turned back to Sasha with an almost sinister glint in her eyes. "Howdy, bro," she said brightly as she made her way towards him.

"Bro?" he asked incredulously, lifting an arm over her shoulder as Becca hugged his side.

"Just trying it out," she shrugged innocently, giving him a cheeky wink before she left them.

Next out to greet them was Mark Keeler, who began by wrapping his daughter in a hug, and then greeting Sasha with a firm handshake and a steely gaze. Sasha got the impression that he was being measured up in that one stare, but couldn't work out the reasons why.

As Payson remembered their previous actions, they both moved towards the bags at the same time, but Mark held up a hand to stop them. "I'll get those," he insisted, waving the two off. "Why don't you go see Kim," he suggested.

They both protested but Mark insisted, proving himself to be the source of his daughter's notorious tenacity. Relenting, Payson pressed a kiss to her father's cheek and then took Sasha's hand and led him through the house to find Kim, only to be cut off before they could get much further than the entrance way.

"Payson, darling," Maxine greeted, dressed as inappropriately as always in a silky red, wrap around dress with a plunging neckline. Trilling with fake joy, she blew a kiss to each cheek in greeting and nearly choked Payson with her perfume. Then she pulled back, immediately turning all of her attention upon Sasha. "You must be Alexander," she said in a lower tone, her gaze trailing over his figure appreciatively.

He pretended not to notice and greeted her amicably. "Sasha," he corrected, offering his hand. "And you are?"

"None of that," Maxine said, waving away his hand. "We're practically family," she insisted, opening her arms for a hug.

Seeing the clear fear on his features, Payson stepped in beside him, wrapping her arms around his forearm in order to avert Maxine's greeting. "Sasha this is Maxine Harper," she introduced. "Maxine is a friend of Mom's dad," she added in a slightly lower tone. "This is Sasha Belov, my – "

"Oh we know who you are," Maxine cut in, smiling knowingly.

"You're older than I expected," she added, her eyes narrowing for a moment. "But who am I to judge," she continued, laughing loudly and falsely at her own joke. "As they say, age is just a number and you're only as old as you feel."

"Right," Sasha agreed awkwardly, frowning in confusion. "We were just looking for Kim . . ." he said, hinting at their egress.

"Oh of course," Maxine agreed. "I can entertain Sasha for you while you talk to your mother," she offered to Payson.

Sasha looked momentarily helpless under Maxine's predatory gaze and backed away, letting Payson fall between him and the woman like a protective barrier. While he wasn't inexperienced at dealing with women like Maxine Harper (a particular incident with a similarly attired Chloe Kmetko immediately came to the forefront of his mind) it was something he would rather avoid if at all possible. He sent Payson a pleading look that clearly said, _'whatever you do, do not leave me alone with this woman'_.

Reading his silent plea, Payson moved in closer and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"That's nice of you to offer," Payson told Maxine ever-so politely, the refusal implied. "Kitchen?" she asked with a false smile, gently ushering Sasha away from the woman. She made sure to send Maxine a jealous look as they left, knowing what Maxine would assume from it, but doing what she had to do for Sasha's well-being.

"Thanks," he whispered, bending his head towards her.

"Happy to be of service," Payson replied lightly, tilting her head back to look at him. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe from the big mean lady."

She giggled lightly, but Sasha continued to look completely serious. "I'll hold you to that," he promised.

* * *

"Mom, Payson and Sasha are here," Becca announced plainly.

"Good," Kim replied, clearly anxious about seeing them. She patted down her clothes and wiped her hands several times, and checked the placement of every item in the kitchen until Becca's laughter finally broke her from her routine.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Mom," she said kindly, smiling to reassure her mother. "They're actually kind of cute together," she added. "It isn't weird at all.

"I mean, it's Payson," she said, elaborating to some degree. "If it was anyone else, but Payson then yeah, the age gap and the coach thing might be a big deal, but . . . it's Payson. Who else could she possibly be with? She only makes sense with Sasha."

Kim smiled with relief. She opened her arms to Becca, kissing the top of her head when she was close enough to embrace. "You're right, sweetheart," she said warmly.

"And here I was thinking you'd have the hardest time adjusting," she added jokingly as she released Becca from the hug.

Becca let out a gasp of affront and shook her head. "You have to start giving me more credit, Mom," she said seriously. "I'm practically seventeen. That's _really _mature."

"We're still not letting you go to that party, Becca," Kim deadpanned in reply.

"But you let Payson go to a kegger when she was younger than I am," Becca protested with a whine, stamping a foot petulantly.

Kim shook her head. "Not going to change my mind," she said plainly. "Why don't you try your dad again?"

Becca huffed and left the room just as Sasha and Payson came in through another door, talking quietly and smiling at each other. Kim couldn't help but smile. Payson had her arms wrapped around one of Sasha's and was looking up at him with a happy expression, while Sasha was bent slightly towards Payson, giving her his whole attention.

Becca was right – they were kind of adorable.

Kim wasn't sure what it was she expected to be seeing the first time she saw them together, but she felt slightly thrown by the reality. They were just so comfortable and happy, existing in their own perfect bubble. It didn't _look_ like a borderline inappropriate secret affair. In fact, it looked sort of . . . _right_.

"Mom!" Payson greeted excitedly, breaking through her thoughts. She released Sasha from her grasp without reluctance, and immediately threw her arms around her mother in a warm hug. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart," Kim returned, squeezing her lightly and kissing the top of her head. "I'm so happy for you, sweetheart," she said with a watery smile, her heart aching with sincerity. Payson frowned a little, but merely released her so she had the chance to greet Sasha.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Kim," he said, ducking his head to buss a kiss to her cheek. Kim pulled him into a hug and took the opportunity to jokingly admonish him for staying out of contact for so long. Sasha apologized, of course, because that was what you did when a mother admonished you, even if it wasn't _your _mother.

"So what have you been up to this last year?" Kim asked him eagerly, hoping to tease out the events that brought them together. "It's been so long. It's . . . it's almost a year to the day," she realized with a laugh.

"Not much," Sasha admitted, unable to say more as Payson pulled him over towards the breakfast nook and gestured for him to sit down. She was just as pushy with Kim, urging her mother to take a break for a few moments of catch up while she got them both something to drink.

They both watched as she hustled around the kitchen, and then disappeared as she remembered some item of use in her luggage. "You've learnt quickly," Kim noted, smirking with amusement.

Sasha replied with a low chuckle. "That one I learnt pretty early on. Sometimes it's easier just to do what she says and stay out of her way."

"Here, here," Kim agreed, lifting an invisible glass in mock toast. She was glad, if for nothing else, that Payson had found someone that understood her and knew her so well. She nodded her head towards him, indicating that she wanted some elaboration on his 'not much'.

"I've actually been in retirement for most of the time," he said, looking a little embarrassed by his idleness. He knew it was something his own mother would not have been impressed with, and the slight narrowing of Kim's eyes confirmed that she felt the same way.

"I did a lot of fishing," he said sheepishly. "Spent some time in Romania. Pretty much what I was doing before Steve Tanner found me last time. I even did a bit of work on my house in Cambria," he offered, trying to show Kim that those seven or eight months hadn't been _entirely _unproductive.

"But you decided to give up retirement for college gymnastics?" Kim asked, still slightly confused about what had led Sasha to the Gym Dawgs aside from the obvious. Coaching the Huskies meant being close to Payson, and yet it wasn't as though Sasha needed to work in order to make that move. He could fish just as much in Seattle, if that was what he wanted to occupy himself with.

"Not . . . specifically," Sasha said, unsure of how to explain this part. "I had quite a few offers from different organizations, including the Romanian and Chinese gymnastics programmes. I only went to meet Stu Underwood in Seattle to humour them, but then Payson was there at this function.

"She convinced me to stay," he finished with a helpless shrug and a fond expression.

(Technically Payson hadn't done anything more than greet him with a smile he'd missed desperately without even realizing that was what the little ache in his heart was longing for, but it had left him without any choice in the matter. If he had turned down the job he'd have been in a much sorrier state than he had been prior to seeing her again.)

Kim nodded, taking what she could from Sasha's explanation and having the last of her reservations fall away. "So it's only been a few months," she said, as the realization dawned on her. "Since September."

Sasha nodded his confirmation.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that," she said honestly. "Mark and I just assumed because of the job . . . never mind," she trailed off, waving away those concerns. "We should have known better than that. You took the job because of her – not for her."

Sasha just frowned at her as she babbled on about months and secrets and other odd things. "Are you alright, Kim?" he asked concernedly. "You're not making much sense."

"I suppose I'm not," Kim said grimacing slightly. "Don't worry about it, Sasha," she said, smiling more genuinely to assure him. She placed her hand on top of his fist, and squeezed gently. "I'm just sorry I ever doubted you."

This only made him more confused, but he decided to simply let things go rather than question her further. It was obviously the right decision to make, as Payson returned from her endeavours a moment later with a bottle of sparkling cider in hand.

"When on earth did you get that, luv?" he asked, laughing at her bright and victorious expression.

"While you were getting questioned by security," Payson replied with a teasing smile, putting the bottle in the fridge to cool so it could be ready in time for dinner. "Oh, Mom, the most ridiculous thing happened to us at the airport," she began as she turned back to them, finally getting started on the drinks she'd offered earlier.

Mark came in as Payson recounted their encounter and how the airport security seemed to think that Sasha was a Soviet spy or head of some Romanian drug cartel trying to infiltrate the government. He'd been eavesdropping, she knew, but she would forgive him that. It was something that they had both needed to hear.

They could rest easier now, knowing that it wasn't the sordid affair that they had feared.

There had been no secret relationship spanning who knows how long. Payson had never kept anything from them, although she never outright told them about the relationship. But why would she? It wasn't in Payson's nature. And to sit them down and tell them that she was seeing Sasha would be like admitting they were doing something wrong.

_'Which they aren't,'_ Kim assured herself

Sure, the age gap was probably larger than either she or Mark would have liked, but it wasn't so bad. It certainly wasn't anything compared to the gap between her father and Maxine, who was twenty years her father's junior. Payson had little patience for boys her own age so it only made sense that she would find someone at her same level of maturity.

The coaching thing wasn't even an issue at this point. It had been more than a year since Sasha was her coach, and nothing had happened until that part of their lives was well and truly over. Sasha hadn't taken advantage of his position – not that Payson would ever let herself be taken advantage of – and they had begun the relationship as equals, not student and mentor.

Only one concern remained for Kim, and even that was trifling and easily reasoned away. Things were progressing much faster than Kim had initially thought – they'd only been seeing one another for three months and already they were practically living together. Already it was at that point where Payson was bringing her boyfriend home to meet the family, albeit a boyfriend that they already knew and who they were entertaining in a partly non-boyfriend capacity.

It was still faster than Kim would have liked given that her daughter was only twenty and too young to be at that point where she started settling down and making plans for the future. She wasn't even finished college, but already she'd found the man she would likely spend the rest of her life with.

It seemed like just yesterday they were picking out her first leotard together and watching her wave them off at the school gate. And now here she was, twenty years old, having achieved her dreams of Olympic gold and finding her place with someone with whom she would cultivate new dreams.

Her little girl suddenly all grown up, right before her very eyes.


	4. Break Bread

_~Thanksgiving, late afternoon_

Becca watched from her bed as Payson pinned her hair up in a demure chignon. It was the style she tended to favour for occasions involving Grandpa Rob, with Payson seeming to feel the need to look like the demure, perfect granddaughter whenever he was around. Becca felt almost scruffy in comparison.

Her sister had always been something of an enigma to her. Payson could be so confident and sure in some aspects of her life, and yet appear so uncertain at other times, nervous at the prospect of a meal with their family.

"I'm sure Grandpa Rob won't be too awful," she offered consolingly, her smile weak. "If anything, it's Maxine you should be worried about."

Payson turned away from her own reflection, sending an equally weak smile over her shoulder. "I suppose it would be too much to ask for a nice quiet family dinner," she said with a sigh. "Sasha'll be put off the whole thing for life."

Becca grinned. For all the ways that Payson was so completely beyond normal, there were some things that made her just like everyone else. And being nervous about your family's first formal introduction to your boyfriend was just one of them.

"I don't think Sasha scares that easily," she said assuredly. "Although I don't doubt that Grandpa Rob and Maxine will leave an impression."

"No doubt," Payson agreed sardonically.

Becca bounced off her bed, wrapping Payson in a tight hug. "It'll be fine," she promised, squeezing her sister tightly before letting her go. "Mom and Dad love Sasha, and I think they always knew it was gonna end up like this."

Payson frowned, and Becca continued all the same.

"Grandpa Rob will just have to get over it," she finished with a nonchalant shrug and a bright smile. On that note she left Payson to finish getting ready, making her way to the dining room where Grandpa Rob was already seated at the head of the table, looking moodier than he had earlier that day.

Becca opened her mouth to question what was going on, but Grandpa Rob got in first, directing a damning glare towards Mom and Dad. "What are you doing letting her gallivant around with a man twice her age?" he questioned in a harsh whisper, voice lowered for proprieties sake.

Mom and Dad were laying dishes on the table, both of them looking like they were doing their best not to react defensively. Dad scoffed at the hypocrisy and Mom nudged him with her elbow, keeping him from pointing it out.

"Sasha isn' _that old_," Becca offered, realizing almost immediately that there were better ways she could have put it. "I mean, he's only like thirty. It's not that old."

"Thirty-one," Mom corrected almost reluctantly.

Eleven years.

Becca could see how some people could have a problem with that. But it wasn't a huge age gap, and when it cam to Payson it seemed almost trifling. Payson wasn't your typical twenty-year-old – she'd had a career, seen the world, been through so much. She was so much more mature and wouldn't know how to cut loose and act her age if her life depended on it. She'd have no clue how to interact with a normal guy her own age. It was why Sasha made so much sense.

"I say to each their own," Maxine said loftily, as though she totally wasn't the one to go tattling to grandpa about how Payson's new boyfriends was at least a decade older than her. "Age is just a number. All that matters is a person's soul."

Becca wanted to gag.

Grandpa Rob ignored Maxine's clichéd false sentiments, instead keeping at his interrogation. "How long has she known him?"

Oh, Becca could only imagine how wel _that_ ittle tidbit would go over. If Grandpa was getting like this over a ten-year age gap, he certainly wasn't going to like the fact that Sasha had been Payson's coach up until just over a year ago.

Mom was suitably vague on that information, telling Grandpa that they'd known each other awhile and leaving it at that.

"Sasha used to be a gymnast," Becca put in before Grandpa Rob could start pushing for more information that might lead to some unfortunate implications about the nature of Payson's relationship. The change in the relationship was new, but Payson and Sasha had spent every day of their lives together for three years straight and had always been amazingly close. The change itself was a long time coming.

It seemed a reasonable enough explanation for how their paths might cross, but only seemed to incense Grandpa all the more. "I told you nothing but trouble would come from this gymnastics business," he said, voice full of disapproval.

"Dad," Kim said plaintively.

"I told you, Kim," Grandpa Rob continued unadmonished. "I told you that you were giving her too much rope. You were never firm enough with that girl, and now look at where it's led her. Doing god knows what with some man on the other side of the country who's old enough to be her . . ." He lost his wind a little as he struggled to come up with an appropriate short-hand. "It's exactly the sort of thing that's bound to happen when you let her get involved with the wrong sorts. Just letting her do what she wants and to hell with the consequences when she should've been focusing on school and her future."

Dad looked furious by the end of it, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the back of the chair in his hands. This time Mom didn't stop him from responding.

"This 'gymnastics business' made her an Olympic Champion," Dad said, his voice chilling. "And I will not let you make her ashamed of that. Or of Sasha.

"He makes her happy, and that's all you need to know about it," Dad said with a sense of finality, practically daring Grandpa Rob to say something in response.

Becca smiled proudly at her father as Grandpa Rob silently stewed.

Some things just had to be said.

* * *

"What on earth are you wearing?"

Sasha frowned, at first taken aback by the unexpected question and then taking offence at his content. He thought he'd done a rather alright job of getting himself ready for the evening. He was freshly shaved, his hair was tidy and slightly styled, and he'd finished It all off with his dark grey suit and a burgundy silk tie.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Payson in return. She just laughed in reply.

"You're overdressed," she eventually explained with the sort of gentle expression you gave a confused puppy. "It's just Thanksgiving. The suit is a bit overkill."

Sasha gave a small groan of frustration, turning back into the bedroom he'd just come from. "You couldn't have given me the dress code before hand," he complained good naturedly, sending a disgruntled look over his shoulder as she followed after him.

"If I'd known you were going to dress up, I would have," she said with a small shrug. "What you were wearing earlier was fine."

"But you told me to change," Sasha noted, eying her suspiciously. She just shrugged as he sighed, shucking the jacket off his shoulders and throwing it down on the bed.

"You're gonna show the rest of us up," she teased him, taking a step closer as she began fiddling with the silk bonds of his tie and sliding it from his neck. She popped open the top button of his shirt and then began work on his shirtsleeves, rolling them up to his elbows.

"Done," she said brightly, admiring her work. Not that she'd actually done anything to improve on his overall appearance, but he did look more casual now and less like he was heading to a courtroom.

He caught himself looking back for a moment too long – admiring the way she still managed to look so beautiful in just a simple skirt and blouse – and coughed awkwardly to avoid the building tension. "So . . . have you decided what you're thankful for?" he asked, providing a necessary change of subject and letting out a silent sigh of relief as she let him do so.

"You really have no idea about Thanksgiving, do you," she accused with an affectionate laugh.

"I know it had something to do with the Pilgrims," he offered in reply, shrugging his shoulders rather than admitting that everything he knew about the American practice of Thanksgiving was taken from really bad American sitcoms. "You know we kicked that lot out of England for a reason."

"Oh, s _now_ ou're English," she answered with a smirk, a familiar lightness seeping into their conversation.

"When it comes to matters of treason," he said with a serious nod. Payson sighed exasperatedly, knowing she should have expected such a reply.

"C'mon," she said, giving another sigh. She hooked her arm through his, half-leaning against his shoulder as she walked them out of the room. "Time for dinner."

"I thought you'd be more excited," he noted with some concern. She suddenly seemed very tired, losing the playfulness of earlier.

"You haven't met my grandpa yet," she offered in explanation. "He disapproves," she added when Sasha indicated that further explanation was needed.

"Of what?"

"Of everything," Payson replied drolly.

"And gymnastics?" he guessed, sensing that he was about to mee _one of those_ elatives. He suspected most families had them, including his own despite something of a pedigree in the sport. There was always at least one family member that disagreed with their decision to follow a dream with such negligible chance of success. And such dissenters tended to become more incensed the greater your successes.

Payson shook her head, smiling weakly to reassure him. That wasn't the problem. "Not especially," she said, her nose wrinkling slightly. "He's just . . . he's not an easy man to get along with, so consider yourself warned."

Sasha just eyed her incredulously. "You have met my dad, haven't you?"

"Yes," Payson nodded. "Your dad's sweet. I don't know what you're complaining about."

"That's because he likes you," Sasha pointed out. "I doubt very few people would agree with your assessment of him."

She shrugged and stood by her description. She'd only encountered his dad a couple of times (three tops), and Dmitri had always been firm but kind on those occasions. Sasha would even go as far to say that Dmitri had a soft spot when it came to Payson.

"Your dad's hard on the outside, but just a big softie underneath," she assured him, adding teasingly, "You're a lot more like your dad than you think."

Sasha opened his mouth in rebuttal, but stopped as they entered the almost eerily quiet dining room. It felt suspiciously like they'd just walked in on a conversation about themselves, words dropping off quite suddenly upon their appearance and Payson's grandfather looking especially grim. And why on earth was that woman still looking at him like a particularly delectable piece of meat? He reflexively stepped a little bit closer to Payson, although he'd never admit to using her as a shield.

Payson shifted awkwardly in the sudden silence, not sure where to go from there. It felt like years since he'd last seen her look so uncomfortable in a situation – not since she'd finally bought into his plan to make her into an artistic gymnast. He sought to try and cut through the awkwardness as soon as possible by offering his hand to the only unfamiliar figure at the table. "You must be Payson and Becca's granddad," he said politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Wilson."

Robert Wilson glared at the hand before him for a few even more awkward moments before eventually accepting it with a gingerly handshake.

Eyes narrowed, Robert Wilson gave Sasha a thorough once over. After a moment he gave an unimpressed scoff, dropped Sasha's hand and turned back to the rest of the table, his stern expression suggesting it was time to begin. Sasha sent a questioning glance towards Payson and she gave him a tiered smile while touching his arm reassuringly to let him know he'd done the best that could be expected of him in the circumstances.

He helped her into her seat next to Becca before taking the empty seat to her left at bottom of the table. The man continued to glare at Sasha from the top of the table, pausing only to give Mark Keeler a disgruntled look as he stood to carve the turkey. Conversation was sparse as the dishes were passed around the table. Sasha had questioned a couple of the side dishes (the sweet smelling yam casserole), but allowed Payson to serve him a generous helping anyway before passing the dish along.

"I'd like to lead us in grace," Maxine said as she sent what was probably intended to be an alluring look across the table. She opened her hands, palms up facing to indicate that she wanted them to hold hands while she led them in prayer, which was rather unfortunate for Sasha who'd been given the seat opposite her. She looked at him expectantly until he complied, his need to grimace as he did so quelled only by Payson's delicately hand in his own giving a small, apologetic squeeze.

Maxine closed her eyes dramatically and began. "Dear Heavenly Father," she began reverently. "We thank you for all the things that you have brought to us today. For the people you have brought into our lives," she said, smiling meaningfully. "For the . . ."

"I have no idea why she's doing this," Payson whispered, leaning towards Sasha once she was sure her grandfather wouldn't notice. "Especially seeing as she's supposed to be Buddhist."

"Taoism," Rebecca corrected, stealthily moving towards the conversation and speaking in a very low tone.

"Although I can guess why," Payson added lowly, grimacing on Sasha's behalf as Maxine tried to fondle his hand in her own.

"Is grace supposed to go on this long?" Sasha whispered back, his voice a little louder than the hushed tones that she and Becca had been using. Mark snickered across from them and Maxine's seemingly endless platitudes came to an abrupt halt.

"So, Sasha," Maxine began after everyone had settled down to the meal. "What part of Russia are you from?"

He grimaced a little, but answered in a cool tone. "I'm not from Russia."

"No. But what about your name?" Maxine pushed, not picking up on the suggestion in his tone of voice that the topic be dropped. He was rarely candid about where he had come from, and especially not with someone he'd only just met. "I just haven't met anyone with that name that wasn't Russian."

"It's common in Europe," he answered bluntly, leaving little room to take the topic further. Payson helped, switching the conversation to Maxine and whatever business she was in so that he didn't have to explain how exactly a Romanian man ended up with a Russian diminutive. Things stayed relatively light and superficial for a while as Maxine took great pains to inform them all of the increasingly mundane intricacies of her life.

Eventually Maxine ran out of things to say, and Kim was able to use the slight lull in conversation to get in her own question. "How's everything in Seattle?" she asked with a gentle, imploring expression.

Payson sent him a look that clearly said 'I told you so' before responding to her mother. "It's good," she assured. "I'm really enjoying my classes and I'm feeling pretty confident for the upcoming exams." He wondered how long she'd spent rehearsing those words.

"Sasha?" Kim pressed, just as Payson had predicted.

"It's . . . been wetter than I expected," he began, which made Payson grin and titter beside him. "I don't know what I would have done without Payson," he added genuinely, turning his head to send her a warm smile. "She helped me set up the flat and has been making sure I eat something other than cereal."

"Cereal and instant noodles," Payson corrected.

Kim looked across at them with a warm, motherly expression. "I'm glad you're taking care of each other," she said softly, nodding her approval.

Payson's grandfather, who had been silently stewing up to that point, gave an incredulous snort. "Shouldn't you be old enough to look after yourself?" he asked with a sneer.

"That's enough, dad," Kim shushed with a scowl. She forced a smile, turning her attention back to Sasha. "So what do you think of the Huskies' chances this year?"

Sasha took the hint for a change in conversation, rattling off gymnastics stats with Payson adding her own commentary where appropriate.

The remainder of the meal seemed to go by without incident, although Thanksgiving wasn't over quite yet.

~ to be continued ~


	5. Aftermath

_~ Thanksgiving, evening_

In all honesty, they were happy to see the back of Robert Wilson and Maxine Harper when they decided, at six, that they should go catch up with some of Maxine's friends in town. Mark didn't question how Maxine even had friends in Boulder or make much of an effort to convince them to stay.

After they left, things settled into what a Thanksgiving should be, at least in Mark's opinion. The tension that Robert and Maxine had brought with them faded away, replaced with warmth and calm and friendly conversation. And reminisces, some fresher than others, of holidays and times past.

For the most part, Mark just watched as the conversation flowed around him, far more interested in what he was seeing than in offering his own stories, especially when he knew Kim could tell the much better than he ever could – Kim always had a talent for public speaking. His eyes were trained on Payson and Sasha, who sat together on the couch, Sasha's arm resting on the back of the couch behind her as she animatedly shared stories with her mother and sister.

There was something in that seemingly innocuous sight that just wasn't adding up. Mark was an expert at reading people – it was more or less his job description – and Payson and Sasha's behaviour, their body language, and even their choice of words didn't speak of a couple just in the fledging stage of their relationship. There wasn't that constant need to be in physical contact or the deliberate touching that staked a claim on the other. There wasn't that slight tentativeness associated with the early stages of a relationship, as though they were still figuring things out about each other, trying to balance the other person's presence as you merged your lives together.

What he was seeing spoke of something far more comfortable. They didn't need to be touching – there was pleasure in simply being close – and every so often Payson would turn her head towards Sasha and smile. Sasha's eyes hardly left her, his expression warm with pleasure – happy in her happiness without the need to make himself a part of it.

Forgetting what he was told, if Mark only had what he was seeing here to go by and knew nothing else of who these people were, his expert judgment would have put them at about three or four years. Payson and Sasha were more comfortable and at ease with each other than some married couples that he knew.

So what did that mean for them? He believed what Sasha had said earlier about retiring and finding Payson in Seattle. Mark knew how to pick a lie, and Sasha's lie was about home makeovers, it wasn't about Payson.

But something wasn't quite right there, and Mark was going to get to the bottom of it, just as soon as he got a moment alone with Sasha to figure him out.

* * *

It was late now, most of the house asleep, except for Becca who was staring thoughtfully at her ceiling, her curious thoughts focused solely upon the person half-asleep beside her.

"You know you don't have to stay here," she said, finally broaching the subject that had been on her mind for at least the last half hour. "Mom and Dad will be asleep by now and I won't tell."

"Geez, Becca," Payson responded, turning on her side and sending her sister a playful, reproachful look that was barely visible as her eyes properly adjusted to the darkened room. "If you wanted your bed to yourself you could have just told me."

Becca gave a huff on annoyance. Of course Payson would put it that way. She only meant to be nice and to let Payson know that she was okay with everything. And while the idea of Payson sneaking out to go sleep with Sasha was somewhat off putting (because Sasha had been her coach too), it wasn't creepy or anything and Becca was mature enough to accept that Payson and Sasha were in a relationship and that being in an adult relationship meant being with that person.

See, she was totally mature enough to go to Annalise's party.

"You should tell Mom how mature I am," Becca urged her sister, who was more than used to her tendency to jump between topics.

Payson laughed. "How did we get from you kicking me out of bed to me having to convince Mom that she should let you go to a party where there's going to be alcohol and college guys at least five years older than you?" she asked half seriously, shaking her head. "I'm on mom's side with this one, Becca," Payson put in before Becca got the chance to explain her thought process. "You're too young to go to that sort of party."

Becca sat up, entirely put out by Payson's lack of support. "You went to a party when you were my age," she pointed out with a sour glare.

Payson nodded. "A party where one of my friends got so drunk she did a keg stand and my other friend slept with her best friend's boyfriend," she reminded her, giving a meaningful look. "Or do you mean the one which got raided by the police and we had to jump in a lake so we wouldn't get arrested for underage drinking?

"Why do you want to go?" Payson added, squinting in the darkness. "I thought you didn't even like Annalise."

"When did I ever say that?" Becca asked with an indignant gasp.

Payson's response was an incredulously lifted eyebrow and a droll retort. "Three weeks ago when you called her overrated and told me you'd rather be stuck in second division than be on the same team as Annalise for another four years."

Oh, right. It seemed like something that she would say, although she couldn't remember the exact incident the way that Payson could. "Well, everyone else is going," she protested indignantly, sitting up in order to cross her arms over her chest. Payson gave her another one of those meaningful looks that she was so good at and Becca caved, slumping out of her position. "James is going."

As it became clear that there would be no sleeping happening any time soon, Payson sat up beside her and turned on a sidelight. The extra lighting made Payson's amused expression all the more apparent. "Is this James with the dreamy eyes or James with the cute butt?"

Becca glared. "You're not funny," she told her sister in a deadpan tone.

Payson just grinned. "Must be James with the triple-twist dismount then," Payson continued to tease.

"Yes," Becca replied through gritted teeth. As though there was ever another James. Really!

"Didn't you guys go on a date last week?" Payson asked, thankfully looking more sombre.

Becca shrugged, playing it off nonchalantly. "Yeah, but it was just it was jut coffee. That's hardly official.

"And Cass' reckons that if I'm not there Annalise will make a move on him," Becca explained, trying to drive home the momentousness of what would happen if she didn't go to this party. Her sister lived such a sheltered life she hardly understood the basic social mores involved in being a teenage girl, let alone those involved in an almost love triangle. This much was evident in the unimpressed look that Payson sent her.

"If James is the sort of guy who runs off with another girl just because you're not there, then good riddance," Payson pronounced with a firm nod of her head. It was the sort of practical advice that Becca was used to receiving from Payson, but so not what she wanted to hear right now.

"You don't get it," Becca groaned. "Of course you don't get it," she added, voice rising with each word. "You've got Sasha and you guys have been like . . . perfect . . . like perfectly in sync since the day you met. And – "

Payson cut in at this point, her face aghast. "What do you mean ' I _have_ Sasha'?" she questioned, the words rushing out of her mouth as though she were trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

"Th-there's nothing," Payson stuttered out, her eyes flicking down to her fidgeting hands for just a moment, looking more frightened than Becca had ever seen her look in her life. When her gaze returned to Becca her eyes were like steel and she had on her game face, ready to face it head on like she did everything else in her life. "I don't know what you think is going on," Payson said plainly, her words like something scripted for media release, "but you're completely wrong."

And now Becca was completely confused. She'd spent most of the day thinking about how Payson and Sasha were bein _way_ oo obvious. At least once during dinner she'd suspected they were playing footsie under the table (although that might have been Maxine) and she'd been pretty sure that their late arrival to dinner was due to a sneaky make-out session in the hallway. Nothing that she'd seen today implied that there was nothing but a totally platonic relationship between Payson and Sasha.

After giving herself a few moments to try and accept when she was being told (because this was Payson and why would she ever lie about something like this?) she had to protest. It was just too incongruous.

"But you brought him home for Thanksgiving," she began, starting with the first point that came to mind.

"I didn't bring him _home for Thanksgiving,"_ Payson retorted through a tight-lipped grimace, understanding what she meant even if it hadn't been put all that articulately. "I invited him because I thought it would be nice for everyone to catch-up and because I know he missed Boulder.

"I even invited him for you," she added half-spitefully. "I thought he could help you with your beam dismount while he's here so you could beat Annalise at your next meet."

Becca ignored the last comment and pressed on. "But what about at dinner. You kept . . . I don't know . . . you kept touching him and," she lost wind a little partway though, unable to put into words exactly what she's seen at dinner, ". . . it just seemed very . . . couple-ly."

Payson had an answer for that too. "Did you not see Maxine?" Payson asked. "I was trying to get her to back off because she was making him uncomfortable."

Becca almost snorted in incredulous amusement – Payson was seriously deluding herself if she thought that _Sasha Belov_ needed protection from the likes of Maxine Harper.

"And what about outside?" she said instead. "Maxine wasn't around then."

Payson actually blushed, but didn't change her position. "_That_ as nothing," she said quite deliberately. "I took Sasha's bag. He tried to take it back. That's what you saw." She crossed her arms over her chest, giving a sense of finality. But Becca wasn't finished.

"What about all the times you were at Sasha's place when I called? Or you guys were out to dinner or something?

"You're like _always_ with Sasha," Becca pointed out, not in an unkind way. "I just . . . what else are we supposed to think?"

Payson sighed loudly before replying, uncurling herself a little and looking less defensive this time. "You could think that my roommate is a psycho and I'd rather spend time in a real apartment where I can study in peace. Or that Sasha's kind of useless when it comes to taking care of himself.

"Or maybe you could think that we're friends," Payson finished. "Friends hang out. I know gymnastics has sort of muddled my perception of social engagements, but I'm pretty sure that's okay."

It was Becca's turn to sigh. Payson clearly wasn't going to be swayed. And maybe they really were just friends, but even Becca could see there was something more there.

"Fine," she said with a sigh, letting things go for now. "I just figured because Mom and Dad – "

"_Mom and Dad?_" Payson cut in, the fearful expression back in place _"Oh god."_

~ to be continued ~


	6. The Morning After

_~ Black Friday, morning_

Sasha Belov was an early riser, but not a morning person, as evident by the way he half-stumbled into the kitchen where Mark was making a pot of glorious coffee. He barely mumbled a 'good morning' to his host before pouring the hot liquid down his throat, the heat and caffeine perking him up enough to drink his second cup in a more restrained manner.

Mark gave a small chuckle at Sasha's expense and continued rummaging around the fridge, securing the best left overs for himself before the rest of the family got up. It wasn't often he got to see Sasha looking anything but unflappable, and certainly not in the last year, so he enjoyed it while he could.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Mark asked casually, flicking a glance over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the fridge. He was sure he'd seen some leftover sweet potato casserole last night it was just a matter of figuring out where Kim had hidden it.

Sasha nodded as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes. As his vision cleared, he glanced around the room, confused by its emptiness given the hour. "Payson's usually up by now," he noted, more to himself.

Mark gave another chuckle and then a triumphant 'ah-ha' as he found his prize. Taking the Tupperware container from the back of the fridge, he turned to face Sasha. "You must be a sound sleeper," he noted. "Payson and Becca were up all night gossiping. It was nearly two by the time they'd actually gone to sleep."

Like any concerned father, Mark had kept an ear out all night to listen for any movement from Becca's room towards Payson's. He felt somewhat guilty for not having more faith in Payson, but there must be some innate mechanism ingrained in all father's that put them on edge whenever 'the boyfriend' was staying over, no matter how much he trusted his daughter (boyfriends, on the other hand, were never to be trusted). In hindsight, it seemed sort of ridiculous to imagine Payson and Sasha sneaking off to her bedroom like teenagers, but in the dead of night it had seemed almost reasonable.

Sasha smiled gently, his expression one that Mark was familiar with. Payson was so extraordinary that finding her doing something as ordinary as staying up talking all night with her baby sister consistently brought a smile to his own face and Sasha was clearly having the same thought. It was easy to forget sometimes.

Realizing that they were the only ones up and would be for sometime, Mark seized upon the opportunity that had been lacking the previous evening. "Sasha, can I talk to you about Payson?" he said, although he was hardly asking for permission.

Sasha nodded with a smile that told Mark that he would humour him, for now at least.

"She really is doing fine," Sasha put in before Mark could begin his intended line of questioning. "I wish I could tell you that I'd been looking out for her, but it's all on Payson. She just takes it all in her stride."

"Kim can't help but worry," Mark answered him with a shrug. Mark wasn't concerned himself. He knew that Payson was capable of overcoming anything she put her mind to and settling into a new town and college life would prove no more of a challenge than anything she'd faced so far.

"I wanted to talk about you and Payson," Mark explained, words heavy with implication.

Sasha looked confused, which once again seemed off to Mark. "I suppose what I want to know here is what your intentions are towards my daughter," he said, wanting to laugh at his own words as he was fell back upon the tried and tested cliché.

The confusion morphed into something else – surprise, concern, and a slight edge of anger, albeit restrained by a cool façade. "You have nothing to be concerned about," Sasha answered with false nonchalance, although he offered no more than that.

Mark sighed. He hadn't wanted to get Sasha offside, and he could understand how his question could be taken badly, but as a father he needed these answers. Something just wasn't sitting right about Payson and Sasha, and he needed to know what it was so he could put any lingering concerns he might have to bed.

So he tried to smooth things over as best he could (words had never been his forte, always Kim's). "I don't mean to pry, Sasha," he offered placatingly. "I'm simply trying to understand where you and Payson are in your relationship." The words came out haltingly, sounding like something he'd read straight out of a practitioner's manual.

Sasha drew a hand over his face, looking more worn than he had moments earlier. "I thought we'd had this talk and dealt with it years ago, Mr Keeler," Sasha said formally, putting him at a distance. Mark could hardly remember the last time Sasha had referred to him in such formal terms. "I know that my relationship with Payson was never purely one of coach and gymnast, and while I understood such concerns while I was still coaching Payson, that time has passed and there is nothing untoward in our friendship."

And there it was. The thing that he was missing – the reason for the ease he saw in the way they interacted. "You're not . . ." he stuttered out, laughing at himself this time. "Kim and I thought . . ." He pulled himself together, forcing himself to complete a sentence and convey his meaning to a very confused looking Sasha.

"We thought you were dating Payson," he explained, laughing at the series of events that had led to this moment and Sasha's very polite suggestion that it was none of his business. They'd been working so hard at being okay with Payson and Sasha's relationship that at no point had they stopped to ask them about it or brought it up in a way that would have gotten them to this point sooner.

"I'm sorry, Sasha," he said, one last chuckle making it's way out before he could stop himself.

Sasha just stared back with wide eyes. "Why would you think . . ." he began trailing off with a befuddled frown.

Mark studied the man before him for a moment. Mark had his suspicions way back when he and Sasha had first discussed his relationship with Payson three years ago that it would eventually come to this. It was why he'd been so adamant about the inappropriateness of their friendship – his desperate, fatherly attempt to try and delay the inevitable. For a brief moment in time (just after the Olympics when they all went their separate ways) he thought maybe he'd been wrong, but then they found one another again and his mind had jumped to the logical conclusion that they were finally together.

But Sasha wasn't ready to hear that, so Mark choose his words carefully. "She's just been so happy since you arrived in Seattle," he said kindly. "And with how close the two of you are . . ." He purposely trailed off, letting Sasha fill in the rest.

"We're just friends," Sasha answered weakly, and Mark let it stand at that for now.

He knew his daughter well, after all, and he knew it wouldn't be long before Payson changed that. And he doubted Sasha would have any complaints when she did.

~ End ~


End file.
